


The loss of You

by blowinduck



Series: Rush minific Series [7]
Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, retirement fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blowinduck/pseuds/blowinduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funeral happened in a rush</p>
            </blockquote>





	The loss of You

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to expand my writing to other fields and this happened. To be fair I can only take so much of angst so, believe me when I say this was difficult to write and to re-read in order to be posted here, but I'm happy with how this turned out.

The funeral happened in a rush.

People on black went and came; some hugged him, muttering little nonsense which Niki didn’t give a damn nor cared to understand; some just exchanging quick pleasantries, hardly meeting his eyes; the reducing room had gradually filled with people that were there to pay respect to a man they hardly had known, not like he did.

The ceremony had been quick, neither he nor James had really believed in the existence of someone above, but Marlene had insisted, arguing it would help Niki mourn. Niki had agreed, he supposed she was right, she always knew best about those sort of things; yet the words said seemed stupid and shallow to him, everything seemed pointless, tasteless, the colours had faded to the same grey shade of the English sky, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the dark gravestone, the only thing that remained of the man he had loved.

Slow hours turned to days and Niki became aware a week had passed when he found a package at his door. He picked it up and went inside.

The house kept felling oppressing and cold to him. So silent, so empty, as if there was missing something important; more like ‘someone’, Niki thought heavily, sitting himself on the too large sofa, with warm memories of blond hair and easy smiles behind his tired eyes.

Niki opened his eyes, saw the forgotten package and decided to open the bloody thing to keep himself occupied.

Below the manila paper he found a small kind of scrapbook, leather bounded and old, and with it a letter. He recognized the too tight scrawl that was James’ lawyer handwriting and grumbled; he had told the lanky man to do whatever James had specified and leave him alone, but it looked that the man was persistent. The letter read:

 

_Mr. Lauda,_   
_I hope you find yourself in good health._   
_In the fulfilment of the testament of the late Mr. James Hunt and, at not having been successful to contact you in any way, I’ve taken the liberty of sending you via post a full report of the current properties and such Mr. Hunt specified were for you, between them the scrapbook in which you found this letter attached._   
_Finally, I would like to reiterate my complete disposition to inform you and clarify you of any doubt you may have regarding Mr. Hunt’s testament and its progress of fulfillment._   
_Wishing you a good day I send my best regards,_

Niki tossed the letter aside and got up, made himself a cup of strong coffee and opened the scrapbook.

He felt a twig of amusement.

The scrapbook was filled with silly clippings of newspapers and magazines about James and his career as a racing driver, ever his egotistical self, although as he read through its pages the clippings changed in nature, focusing more and more on Niki.

Niki had to stop when he found a clipping of their wedding, finding a very happy James smiling brightly at him, holding hands with a man he struggled to believe had been him. They looked so happy…

Niki kept going through the scrapbook, now slowly as the clippings narrated frozen bits of their life together. A life he felt belonged to somebody else, not to this broken old man sited in a cold sofa with a broken heart.

The last page ended with a picture of both James and him, smiling at the camera, holding hands down the summer sun.

Niki traced with his fingers the wrinkled face of James, his short blond hair, navy eyes and that trademark smile. God, how he missed the asshole...

Hot tears went down his cheeks as he started crying, feeling a heavy, cold weight in his chest, some had fell on the page, soaking spots where rest of ink permeated to that side of the page.

Niki noticed them and, after drying his eyes, turned the page. There was a small note in James’ rushed handwriting:

_Hi, Niki,_  
 _If you are reading this now it means I must no longer be with you._  
 _Funny, how even in this I got to the finish line first. I know what you’re thinking, that I had more probabilities of going before than you, bla bla… don’t put figures on this, love, they ruin the joke ;-)_  
 _I put this scrapbook together on no egotistical or stupid motivation, although you raise your eyebrow like that; I did it as way to remind everyone you let see this and to you, more especially, of the things I am most grateful and proud of; and that is_ US _._  
 _You filled my life with lots of wonderful moments, moments I thought once I would never experience and for that, my love, I am completely grateful to you._  
 _Thank you for sharing with me this adventure that can’t be compared not even with winning all the championships of the world._  
 _Now, Niki, do us both a favour and go out to live a new one._  
 _I love you,_  
 _James._

 

Niki sat there, in the middle of the now darkened living room, and couldn’t refrain himself from crying all night, the coffee long forgotten on the little table.

He opened his eyes the next day when the sun was well above the sky, passing through the curtains and warming the lonely living room. He got up from the sofa and his eyes caught sight of James smiling to him from a photograph on the mantelpiece.

"Asshole" Niki said, his voice raw and too loud for the quiet house.

He returned James’ smile with a dim imitation of his own and picked up the phone, pressing the button to hear the voicemail.

He still felt broken and sad, but the heavy weight on his chest had diminished. For the first time since James’ death, with the sun warming his face, he felt he could breathe again.


End file.
